Who's On First?
by doc100
Summary: How are Love and Baseball related?  Just ask Harm and Mac!  Takes place mid Season 7, after 'Jagathon' and 'Capital Crimes'.  Written in response to a challenge.  Complete.


**Who's On First?** by doc

_**AN:**__ This story was written in response to a June challenge. It takes place mid season 7, sometime after 'Jagathon' and 'Capital Crime.' Renee and Mic are gone, and Harm and Mac have decided to go back to the beginning. Also, Mac has already made her little slip of a confession to Sturgis._

_The challenge lines are from the episode 'Washington Holdiay': "__Love isn't baseball, Mac." … "How would you know?"_

_How to use baseball AND love in a story? Now there's the rub, and with most of the month gone to boot! Then I remembered a conversation with my eldest niece & inspiration struck. Teenagers…what drama…what fun! Oh to be that 'over-the-top' and 'star-struck' again, when everything in life is categorized as either tragic or sublime._

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_Disclaimer: I don't own JAG or any of the characters. I just take them out and play with them on occasion before replacing them safe and sound back on the shelf._

_Please excuse the omissions, misspellings and errors; I did the writing, final proof and corrections after consecutive nights on call. Mom had no part in the proofing of this tale. The mistakes are all mine. Thanks for reading._

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**Who's On First?**

JAG Headquarters

Falls Church, Virginia

He ambled through the bullpen with a chart swinging at his side. He was relaxed and feeling good. The momentum in the courtroom seemed to shift overnight to his side. He caught the first sparks of understanding light the jurors' eyes as he cross-examined the prosecution's last witness. Sturgis was proving to be a formidable opponent, but he still lacked the finesse and appeal of his marine. No one got his blood pumping for a legal tussle or challenged him like Mac.

Sidestepping the petty officer sending a fax from the middle of the bullpen, a light merry giggle tickled his ear. His gait automatically switched course, as the enticement of her laughter drew him in. He paused just inside her door leaning against the frame. His fidgeting fingers tapping out a catchy tune with the chart against his thigh in perfect time to the staccato notes of her laughter. His own mouth turned up in a lopsided grin, as her infectious joy warmed him in ripples all the way to his toes. It had been a long time since he heard her really laugh. Not the deep rolling belly laughs of old, but one that proved her contentment and happiness all the same. His smile dimmed a bit at the thought that he hadn't seen her this happy in a while, and a sigh of disappointment escaped on a slow metered breath at the realization that he wasn't the catalyst for her joy.

He bowed his head as the earlier feeling of triumph dissipated in a puff of thin air and turned to flee to the quiet confines of his dark office. Barely a step into his retreat, he heard the words that chilled his soul.

"I love you too, sweetheart."

He closed his eyes and gasped, his breath sticking in his throat like day-old bread, only to be released on a strangled wheeze. Loved? When? How?

"Oh sweetie, the first time you hear it is always exciting…"

He ducked his head to cast a backwards glance over his shoulder, glaring at her through half-mast eyes. How could she? When had there been time? Where had she met him? His soul willed his body to move from that spot, but the shock of the moment froze his leaden feet to the floor. His heart damned as an unwitting spectator vacillating somewhere between the horror of fascination and the weight of overwhelming sorrow.

"Yeah, I suppose it is kinda like hitting it out of the park or scoring a homerun, but…"

Backtracking his steps to her office, he hovered just out of sight. Not that it really mattered; she was so engrossed in the titillating conversation with her new lover, that if the world came to an end, she would surely succumb unaware.

He couldn't make out the details of her face, but he could hear the excitement in her voice. It enticed him to stare. Her chair was swiveled away from the door facing the back wall. She seemed to be captivated by the view from her window, but if her 'cooings' were any indication, she wouldn't notice if it were raining sleet or snow. He noticed, of course…truth be told, he noticed everything…well, everything about her. The way the sunlight filtered through the window illuminating the highlights in her hair. The graceful slope of her long slender neck. The perfect swan-shaped turn in the shell of her ear. The tiny gold earring that studded her irresistible pink earlobe. A mesmerizing lobe that constantly beckoned him to…

"What the…best shut it down right there, Rabb," he muttered softly to himself. Where had that come from? He was usually in better control. Shaking his head to clear the thought, he shifted uncomfortably in his rigid stance. His fingers reflexively slackened then curled again over the creased and knurled chart clenched in his grasp. His attention was drawn back to her as the tone in her voice turned terse.

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that," she warned.

'You tell him…' he caught himself, biting his lip just before he could utter the thought aloud.

"How many chances do you think," she twisted the phone cord round and round her hand, "…I know…"

His eyes followed the movement of her left hand. He took note of the missing diamond with a relieved gaze. He never liked the ostentatious display of that Aussie gem. It didn't suit Mac at all. It spoke more of Brumby's nature…glaring and brash. It was more about ownership, staking a claim, and securing the win. Truth was, that arrogant bastard didn't understand a thing about Mac. No, in those private moments when he allowed himself to dream, he imagined something much different for his Sarah. Something understated and elegant much like her. She didn't need glitz and flash to make a statement, she had substance and character…and that intrinsic beauty was more important than glare. That was why he loved her.

Loved her…he tried it on for size and fit.

Yes, he had to admit it was true, even if he couldn't say it aloud. He loved her. His heart had long since given up fighting the reasoned denials of his mind. He just wanted to give 'her' more time to adjust to the idea of 'them'…or was it 'him.' At this point he couldn't remember who uttered the last 'not yet.' Game, set, match…checkmate…he was through. He just wanted her, but now…

But now, it seemed to be too late.

He realized he'd been standing in her doorway gawking for untold minutes, lost in reflection and doubt. Lost in…well, just lost. The rise in the pitch of her voice broke him from his musings.

"I don't care what you promised…but…but…that's not love! You know my rule…yeah, well… No! Wait! … That's right, three strikes you're out…"

His eyes shifted from side-to-side, as he struggled to follow the bizarre conversation. What the heck was she talking about? Who was this new guy, anyways?

"Alright, I know I promised not to tell," she sighed into the phone, "…I don't care what he told you, sweetheart. Look Chloe, I think your grandmother and I need to have a serious discussion."

Chloe?

Chloe! Now that got his attention, he inhaled deeply to jumpstart his heart, then released the fear as a relaxed sigh and stepped into the threshold of her office. Hand poised to rap on the frame, he stopped mid motion when her chair swiveled around.

Raising an index finger high, she signaled for him to wait while she finished her conversation. "Listen Chloe, Harm's at my door and I really need to get back to work. I expect you to tell your grandmother everything you just told me...I know it's hard, but…Chloe, I promise I'll call you later this evening, but I really need to run…love you too, sweetie."

Harm took two steps into her office and regarded her with an expectant smile. Someday…he thought. Someday that will be ours too.

Placing the handset on its cradle, Mac dropped her head against the backrest of the chair and sighed, "That was Chloe."

"So I gathered," his voice reflected just a hint of his glee.

She rolled her head sideways and peered at him with amusement, "She's in love!"

He chuckled, "I kinda gathered that, too."

She moaned heavenward, "Teenagers…everything's so dramatic and life-altering. You'd think it would kill'em to take things slow." She shook her head, "When the heck did she grow-up anyways? It seems like just yesterday that she was climbing that elevator shaft here at JAG. Now she can't wait to slide head first into home…"

He laughed, "Mac, I think Chloe has always been a little too impetuous and mature for her own good. And besides, don't you remember acting irrational and crazy the first time you fell in love?" When her expression morphed from humored exasperation to sorrow, he quickly backpedaled, "Ah…sorry…"

"It's okay, I guess I just missed out on all those over-the-top teenage-girl reactions." Her eyes drifted shut weighted down by the horrid memories of a tortured past, "My life wasn't exactly like that back then. I was too busy just trying to stay sober and survive…"

Attempting to switch tracks before things became positively sullen, he jumped in, "What's with all the sports metaphors, anyways?"

"What do ya mean?"

"Sliding into home base, hitting a homerun, three strikes you're out…"

A shy smile slid across her face thankful for his attempts to lighten her mood. "I don't know, just trying to put all those chemical reactions and fireworks into a perspective she could understand. Why? How long were you standing in my door, anyways?"

"Long enough to get an education in 'Mackenzie Parenting 101.' Ya know, Mac," he crossed his arms over his chest and threw her a teasing Rabb grin, "…love isn't baseball."

"How would you know?" she cocked her head to the side and bantered right back.

"How would I know what?"

"What it's all about…when was the last time you were in love?" she crooked her left eyebrow in challenge.

He shoulders slipped a notch and his bravado plummeted right behind, "Actually Mac…"

She watched the shadows pass over his face, "Harm, I'm sorry…I had no right to say that."

Unconsciously his fingers rose to scrub his brow, "Noooo, it's okay…it's just…I…ah…"

"Harm, really…I was just kidding. You don't need to explain. I was out of line."

He glanced at her from under the cover of his palm and chuckled nervously. It's now or never, Rabb. Peering back to her open door, he reached out to slip it shut and whispered a silent prayer of thanks that her blinds were already closed.

"Umm Mac, about that…"

She eyed him with a panicky stare as her stomach rolled. What the heck was he up to and why was he so nervous about it? "What is it, Harrrm?" her voice stuttered out his name.

"Why would you think that I don't know anything about love?" When she started to reply, he plunged ahead undaunted, "You know I do love my family and friends…my airplane…the Navy, and if I remember correctly, there was Abigail Greenbaum in third grade." As he started to pace the room and relate the grade school tale, she fell back in her chair with relief, clearly he was going for silly and fun.

"…she had these long blonde pigtails that ended in the cutest shock of wavy curls. Of course, she started wearing those braids pinned over her head with ribbons, after I tugged one time too many."

Mac laughed, "Why Harmon Rabb, don't tell me you use to torment little girls on the playground?"

"Only the cute ones," he tossed her a wicked grin, "…and if I really, really liked them, I would push'em down! Let's just say that Abigail Greenbaum spent the better part of a month with band-aids covering skinned knees!"

"Only a month?" she grinned back.

"Yeah, I got called into the principal's office and had to clean all the classroom blackboards during recess for two weeks," he shrugged. "But that was nothing compared to the punishment my mom doled out."

"Oh yeah, what did your mom do?" her eyes danced with amusement, as her mind conjured up images of impish little dark-haired sons with sky blue eyes and flyboy grins.

"Well…first, she marched me over to Abigail's house and made me apologize."

"That's not so bad," she countered, thinking she'd have gotten much worse.

"Nooooo, but the dancing lessons were!"

"Dancing lessons?" her brow peaked in interest.

"Yeah," he cast her a sheepish glimpse, "…seemed Abigail's mom and mine had talked. Abigail's older sister was getting hitched that summer, and her mom enrolled her in dancing lessons. Abigail's mom decided she needed a dance partner, and my mom thought the added exercise might curb some of my 'wild' tendencies. Not to mention, she thought the accompany 'Deportment and Etiquette' lessons might instill some much needed manners and charm."

Mac howled, "So, we have Abigail Greenapple…"

"Greenbaum," he glared.

"…ah, Abigail GreenBAUM to thank for the proper decorum of our beloved naval officer and gentleman?" she blinked her eyes to stop the overflowing tears of fun.

"Yes, Mizzzz MacKenzie…I'll be sure to express your appreciation to Abigail next time I see her," sarcasm dripped from his tongue.

"Soooo," she tapped a finger to her lips, "…you preferred blondes even back then?"

"Nooooo, I do believe I was an equal opportunity pigtail-taunter and hair-puller in my short-pants days. After all, Molly Jo Timmons was a flaming redhead!"

"Well, seems you were quite the little Casanova of La Jolla Elementary School. Is that a prerequisite for all fighter jocks?"

"Nope, didn't live in La Jolla back then, that wasn't until Frank came along. Besides, just because I liked chasing the girls, didn't mean they enjoyed being caught."

I'd let you catch me, Mac thought with a start. Instead her smile dimmed a bit, "So does that mean you're now poised to author a best-selling book, 'MEMOIRS OF A FIGHTER JOCK: Everything I Know About Romance…I Learned in My Short Pants Days'?"

"Maybe?" he rubbed his chin in jest. "You tell me," his pacing resumed, "…I think I've learned that pulling pigtails and skinning knees doesn't work so well. The way I see it…love is about caring for someone else more than yourself. Oh sure, it's also about all those erupting, spectacular, exhilarating, earth-shattering, mind-blowing, awe-inspiring, spine-tingling fireworks of which Chloe speaks," he spied a glance her way and failed to hide an impish grin.

"I get the picture," she shook her head with a bemused smile.

"…but more important," he grew serious again, "…it's about quiet moments spent together. Exchanging the details of an ordinary day over dinner, or secrets dreams under the stars. It's surprising her with a favorite meal, served on a candlelit table with fresh spring flowers, after a rough day in court. Sharing a long hot bath and foot-rub after an evening of chasing the kids. Knowing she needs a hug even before she realizes it herself. It's long walks hand-in-hand across the shore on a calm summer night, or making slow sweet love under a warm blanket on an icy winter's eve. It's soccer practices, bruised knees and wiping tears. It's sharing the joy of our child's first cry, first laugh, first crush, graduations and dates. It's enjoying a beautiful sunset, as it bursts forth in warm rich hues, nestled in each other's arms while rocking on a porch swing after the grandkids have left. It's sitting beside a hospital bed in the winter of our life, fragile hand in mine, silently whispering a prayer for one more day…one more moment…one more breath just to tell her how grateful I am that it was me with whom she chose to spend her life."

When he paced back toward the desk, he found her head bowed in silence. "Mac?"

When she didn't answer, he tried again, "Hey Marine, you still with me?" She nodded her head, but still wouldn't meet his eyes. "Mac, look…I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You didn't," she responded in a soft monotone voice, "…it's just that…." She released a sigh, "Wow…I had no idea…"

"Idea about what?" he moved closer to better gage her mood.

"That you, ah…nothing. I just," she still refused meet his gaze. "Look Harm, I have a lot of work to do…if you don't mind."

"Yeah sure, I'm sorry if I took up too much of your time," he frowned in bewildered frustration at her nonplussed response. "I'll ah…I'll check back with you later."

She heard his footsteps fall away, then the door clicked shut. She turned her chair toward the back wall again and stared unseeing out the window, as the tears began to fall. When had he moved on? She thought they were starting over, that they were trying to make 'this thing' between them work. But clearly, he'd found someone else. She'd never heard him speak with such reverenced emotion…intense, thoughtful, moving, so much hope…and love.

She was so lost in her private world of turmoil that she didn't notice he'd never left the room. When he heard the first soft cry escape her lips, he silently crept toward her chair. Placing a gentle hand upon her shoulder, he softly called, "Sarah?"

She startled to his voice and attempted to push her chair out of his reach. He stilled her movement, refusing this time to back away. With a firm grip, he rotated the chair back in his direction and dropped to his knees before her.

"Sarah," he reached up to cup her cheek, "…what's wrong? I didn't think my words would make you cry. I only wanted you to finally understand."

"I do understand," she sniffed with eyes downcast, "…and I'm very happy for you. Whoever she is…she's very lucky."

"She who?" he raised her chin with a finger placed beneath.

"I just didn't realize…I mean, when did you have time…I thought…" she began to babble, "…did you already know her, or did you just meet. It's not like it's been that long since Renee…or maybe it is Renee…who else…"

He rolled his eyes and flashed an exasperated smile. They were quite the pair, both sheltering their own heart, while assuming the worst. "Sarah, there isn't anybody else. I've been in love with the same woman for years."

"Years?" she frowned at him as if he'd grown two heads. "How come I didn't know…and what about Renee? Have I even met her, or is she some secret…"

"Sarah, shush," he gently touched his fingers to her lips to quell her fears. "Yes, you know her…intimately, in fact."

Her brow knit in confusion, as a "What?" was mumbled against his fingertips.

"You," he whispered, his smile lit in joy. Her eyebrows rose to meet her hair. He nodded reassurance at her response and used his thumb to dry the fresh falling tears.

"I'm thinking the office might not be the best place to discuss this," his fingers continued to stroke her cheek. "What do you say to a quiet home cooked meal?"

She nodded her mute response.

"With flowers and candlelight?"

She nodded again.

He laughed, "I'm not sure I've ever seen you this dazed and speechless. You know; you've got court in 20 minutes…I hope you find your voice by then," he tried to lighten the mood, as he maneuvered to his feet.

She grasped his arm, "Meee…me too," her voice trembled and broke on the words.

Leaning his hip against her desk, he asked, "You too, what?"

"How I feel…."

"I know," he winked, "…how about we talk about it later, when we can, ah…'express ourselves'…in a more appropriate manner. Ya know," his eyes twinkled, "…I think I'm liking all those baseball analogies related to love."

"What?" her smile grew in proportion to her rapturous joy.

"You know…first base…second base…"

"Think you're gonna get lucky tonight, Sailor?" she bantered back having now found her emotional footing.

"A guy can hope?" he waggled his brow.

"I wouldn't count on that, Commander. We haven't even been on a proper first date!"

"What happened to making slow sweet love under a warm blanket on a cold winter night?" his arrogance was back.

"It's not winter," her singsong lilt countered, "…in fact, last I checked it was 60 degrees."

"I'll flood the apartment and turn on the a.c.," he feigned a shiver and flashed his cockiest grin.

"Date first! I think we have some things to discuss," she shut him down, temporarily…for now.

"True, but if I recall correctly, we have been to first base," he couldn't stop himself and leaned over to kiss her nose.

She was positively giddy, "Who's on first?"

"What's on second," he laughed.

"Third base!" they chimed in together.

"Really," he challenged her, "…third base?"

"No, no…I said, who's on first," she corrected.

"We'll see," his cocksure flyboy grin grew impossibly wider.

They were interrupted by an urgent knock at the door and barely had time to jump apart before Tiner barged in, "Colonel Mackenzie, the admiral would like…" he glanced at the two flustered officers. "I'm sorry, Ma'am. Did I interrupt something?"

"Ummm," she cleared her voice, "No Tiner, the commander and I were just discussing who's gonna sit first chair on our new case."

"That's right…FIRST CHAIR! Look Mac, I should be getting back to work myself," he edge toward the door.

"Of course, Ma'am…Sir," Tiner regarded them for a moment.

"Tiner, you needed something?"

"Yes, Ma'am, the admiral needs your signature on these forms. I've marked the places with…um, wait a minute, it looks like I forgot…excuse me, this'll just take a minute, Colonel."

As the petty officer rifled through the stacks of papers, Harm caught her eye from the door. With a conspiratorial wink, he mouthed 'Who's on first?"

She graced him with a sweet loving smile and mouthed back, 'You…only you.'

Nodding back, he pointed his finger toward her then laid his right hand over his heart, before slipping from the room.

She threw her head back and tried to control her goofy, love-struck grin. Who's on first, indeed! Maybe love was more like baseball than she ever dreamed. At the very least, she was determined to have fun exploring those metaphors and options. Just think, if a homerun was just around her corner, could the pennant be far? And what constituted a World Series? Oh, the possibilities…

Maybe she should send Chloe some 'thank-you' flowers? Then again…maybe not. There was enough melodrama in her life without the meddlings of a lovesick teen…first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes…teenagers! HEAVEN HELP THEM!

_The End…_


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